


(I think) the kids are in trouble

by liesmyth



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Character’s Suspicious Actions Get Them In Trouble With The One(s) They’re Trying To Help, Gen, Post-IT (2017), Referenced Bill/Beverly, Teenage Losers Club (IT), Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: “Jesus Christ, we’re gonna electrocute him.”“We’re not gonna electrocute him, Eddie—”Eddie glares at Bill. “I wanted to interrogate Richie, not tomurderhim— do you know how many domestic accidents involving Christmas lights happen every year?”Or: Richie is acting weird, and the Losers are gonna get to the bottom of this.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & The Losers Club, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 81
Kudos: 1099
Collections: Past Imperfect Future Unknown 2019, reddie





	(I think) the kids are in trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlingargents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts).



Richie Tozier gets body-snatched on the third day of the school year, and only Eddie seems to notice.

To be fair, it takes even Eddie some time. Richie still looks like Richie, with the same floppy hair and stupid glasses and dirt-stained jeans well-worn over the knees, and when he talks he _sounds_ like Richie, but the tone is all wrong.

So, Richie starts acting weird, and Eddie sees it happening but doesn’t do anything about it. It’s not like he can just walk up to this fake-Richie, shake him by his noodle-thin arm and ask him what he did with Eddie’s friend. Summer has been hard on them all and now school started up again, and maybe Richie just needs space to be weird in peace, even if Eddie _misses_ him. Whatever. Because Eddie is a good friend, he gives him a month.

By the third week, Eddie is worried. Like, seriously worried — this isn’t Richie acting out or trying out a new character; this is a brand-new person who’s taken over Richie’s body and probably plans to do evil things with it.

That, and cry. That is Point Two of Eddie’s list, scribbled in the back of his math notebook: _2)_ _He cries all the time_. It’s a very uncharitable way of phrasing it and the real Richie would kick Eddie’s ass if he saw it, but for now he’s stuck with this weirdo Richie, and Eddie caught _him_ crying in the boys’ bathroom at least twice. That’s twice more than he’s seen Richie cry since that time he broke his ankle in sixth grade, and both times he’d walked off all misty-eyed after crossing path with Eddie in the corridors. Something, clearly, must be deeply wrong.

On top of Eddie’s list, underlined in red pen, is Item Number One: _1) He’s been avoiding me._

That is unforgivable. Richie has been skipping plans and making flimsy excuses for it, like a body-snatcher with a secret to hide, but he _still_ has lunch with Bill every day, he’s _still_ Ben’s partner for that dumb history project. He sits next to Stan in Geometry and somehow that’s good enough, but he let himself be caught passing notes in English class just so Mr. Hardin would get mad and put him and Eddie on opposite sides of the classroom.

Bill, the traitor, insists that it must have been an accident. “I don’t think he did that on pah-purpose, Eddie. I mean, he got d-detention for it. No one likes detention,” Bill says, wisely. Bill doesn’t know shit.

“You don’t know shit,” Eddie tells him, sulkily. “He’s going out of his way to avoid— he doesn’t even _touch_ me. Last week I brushed his shoulder, like, just barely.” It had been more of a hug, really, but they did that all the time. Richie had been moping on an old rotten bench and Eddie missed him; he’d sprawled down next to Richie and asked if he was still on his period and Richie, worryingly enough, hadn’t said anything. So Eddie had laid his head on Richie’s shoulder, and Richie… “He _jumped_. Like I was fucking Bowers, or— a giant fucking spider who wanted to eat him. And then he said some bullshit and he ran away.”

Thinking about it, he may have been crying even then. So that made it three times Eddie had caught non-Richie crying, and who knew how many more he’d missed. Maybe the thing that had taken over Richie’s body was feeling remorseful about it.

And then there had been last Friday, when they’d all sneaked in to watch _Halloween 5_ — even Stan! — and Richie blew them off and said he had to return a book.

“I told him ‘hey Rich, I didn’t know you could read’,” Eddie recounts. “And I thought he was gonna say, like, ‘Eds, I didn’t know your mom could read!’ And instead he just… ran away. To the library!”

That’s Item Number Three: _3) He's always hiding out in the library_. Eddie has taken English with Richie for the last three years, so he knows perfectly well how much effort Richie puts in his book reports (very little, and the fact that he gets consistently higher grades than Eddie shows that there is something deeply wrong with the education system, and probably the universe as a whole).

“Like, when was the last time you saw Richie walk willingly into the library? The school library, even, not the big one.”

“The other day,” Ben says promptly. “We were doing research for—”

Eddie waves him off. “Before that. He’s been weird since school started up. Richie hates the library, he can’t read a book and sit quiet doing it. It’s like…” Another horrible thing about this new Richie was how _still_ he is, all the time. Richie is loud and bouncy and he laughs at the worst possible moments, and there has been none of that for weeks now. “Look, Richie— he just wouldn’t. It’s too quiet.”

“I mean,” Stan says, “you know, when he gets really into something? We used to hang out at the library after school in sixth grade when Richie discovered those bio books with the drawings… the ones with the insects and the giant whales? Maybe he’s just obsessed with something new. You know how he gets.”

Eddie shivers at the memory of Richie’s yucky insect books. Sixth grade Richie had a thing for memorizing disgusting animal facts and bringing them up at the worst possible moments just to wind Eddie up, and Eddie always screamed and swatted him off and then went to find Richie five minutes later so they could do it all over again.

“So what, you think he’s been blowing us off to go look at picture books? Really?”

“Muh-maybe he likes someone. A girl who works at the library.”

Eddie turns to look at Bill, unimpressed. “So what, you think he’s blowing us off for a girl? Like that’s any better?”

It figures that now that Bill has gotten stupid over a girl he expects everyone else to do the same. First, Richie would never, and Bill doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Second, if there _was_ a girl Richie wouldn’t stop bragging about it, which was why no girl would give Richie the time of the day. Third, Richie just wouldn’t. And, fourth, “All the librarians are, like, old ladies. Have you seen Mrs. Sanders? She must be forty.”

“Some of the high school girls work at the library part-time,” Ben offers.

“Richie is _not_ looking at high school girls, what the fuck, guys. We need to find the real reason why he’s acting like this.”

Then there’s _4) He’s not Richie anymore._

That one is self-explanatory. Eddie looks at his small audience, the assembled Losers minus Mike (still at the farm, probably wrangling sheep) minus Richie (possibly in great danger, real location unknown). They don’t look impressed. Eddie racks his brain, trying to find a way to impress the absolute gravity of the situation they’re in.

“Yesterday I called him a dickwad, and he just _ran away_.”

There’s a pause. The Losers don’t understand; they don’t look half as scared as they should. Slowly, Beverly raises her hand.

“Yeah?”

“Have you tried not being rude to him?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Beverly opens her mouth but closes it when Bill puts his hand on her shoulder. She tilts her head to smile up at him. It’s disgusting.

“Do you two have to do this right now?”

“We’re not d-duh-doing anything.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. It’s like you don’t _care_ —” Eddie wants to punch something. Bill’s face might do. “Last summer, we all listened to you. And now I’m telling you, there’s something serious happening, something fucked up, and you aren’t even listening to me.”

“Eddie—”

“Shut up, Bev.” Eddie likes Beverly a lot, usually. She’s cool and smart and tough, and she _gets_ Eddie better than any of the others ever could, but maybe Richie had been right when he grumbled about her bringing trouble into the group. She’s got Bill so distracted he won’t even bother to listen, and the only person always guaranteed to listen to everything Eddie says is the one who’s probably in big trouble.

“Stan,” Eddie says. “Ben. Guys, you gotta— you can’t tell me you didn’t notice anything off. Like, when’s the last time Richie said something stupid? It’s been weeks.”

“Maybe he’s just… you know,” Stan says.

Eddie hones in on Stan's serious eyes with single-minded focus. “I don't, actually. Tell me.”

“Well, the summer was a lot. Maybe he just… maybe he needs some time.”

It sounds so sensible when Stan says it, except that it's all complete nonsense. Summer has been hard on everyone; they need to stick together more than anything else, and Richie would be the first one to agree. He wouldn't just abandon his friends like that, he wouldn't abandon Eddie.

Worse yet, the others don't seem to understand. He can feel the anger uncoiling in his chest, making it hard to breathe. “You're all useless,” he spits out, blinking back angry tears. “You know what, I'm out of here.”

He climbs awkwardly out of the clubhouse, ignoring Bill calling after him and sniffing only a little. He's grateful when Stan follows him, Ben a short while later, and they don't speak about Richie for the rest of the day.

Because most of the Losers officially suck, Eddie refuses to hang out with them on principle. Richie is still avoiding him like the plague, so Eddie decides to go bug Mike instead, telling Mommy he's going to the Denbroughs and feeling vaguely guilty about the lie for the rest of the day.

Mike cements his new-found status as Eddie’s favorite by not asking unnecessary questions. He just looks at Eddie, shrugs, then says, “Wanna help me look for a lost sheep?”

Mommy would have a fit if she knew Eddie was chasing after runaway farm animals, which is why Eddie never tells her when he goes to Mike’s. That, and the thought of Mommy calling Mr. Leroy on the phone makes Eddie’s inside twist in shameful knots, and that’s a much worse feeling than lying.

Eddie smiles up at him. “How d’you even catch a sheep?”

Mike grins back. “You check the food stores.”

They find the sheep in the barn, munching on a previously intact sack of grain, and Mike laughs and shakes his head at the sight. “Shoooo, you dumbass!”

It takes them almost an hour to herd the sheep back where it’s supposed to be, because Eddie keeps getting distracted petting one of the Hanlons’ sheepdogs. Growing up, he used to think he was allergic to dogs— and pollen, and hay— and Mommy wouldn’t let him play with children who kept pets at home, but Eddie thinks that maybe one day when he’s grown and away from Derry he might like to keep one.

“So, what are you sulking about?” Mike asks him, once they bring runaway Houdini back to the pen. Eddie shoves him, because he’s _not_ sulking, but Mike just gives him that calm stare and Eddie finds himself sniffling a bit.

“It’s just… I think something’s wrong with Richie.”

He doesn’t know what he had expected, but it certainly hadn’t been Mike’s sudden frown, his heavy narrowing gaze. “Oh?”

“He’s acting weird. Like, _really_ weird. The others don’t see it ‘cause they’re stupid, but also I think Richie is avoiding me the most.”

“You know, he— Richie came by the farm last week.”

That’s news to Eddie. “What? You didn’t— you could’ve told me,” he says, half-accusingly.

Mike shrugs. “We went to Bangor on Friday, I forgot about it after that. And I barely talked to him, anyway. He came looking for grandpa, and he was all quiet, and when Richie left grandpa looked really…” His voice lowers to a whisper. “He looked scared, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows. “I had a dream last week. That It was back, and…”

“It took Richie?”

Eddie nods. “He’s not acting like himself, you know? And I tried to tell the others, but they won’t listen.” He kicks the ground, restless, raising thin specks of dust.

“I don’t think It’s back,” Mike says carefully, awkwardly. “I think Richie is acting weird and— I mean, when he saw me the other day, he jumped like he’d seen the clown. And before that we hadn’t talked in weeks. I think there _could_ be something bad going on, but I don’t think It would be so patient. I think— if it was the clown we’d know already, you know?”

Mike has a point, maybe. But the worry is eating Eddie’s insides. He’s spent his whole life afraid and somehow he could live with that, but now that Richie is the one in danger Eddie doesn’t think he can wait a minute longer.

“I just want to know,” he blurts out. “I’m worried and he’s not telling me anything, and…”

Eddie straightens up, looking Mike in the eye. He’s grown a lot since the beginning of last summer, but he has the same familiar smile when he looks reassuringly down at Eddie, and Eddie decides there and then that they can do this.

They’re going to find out what’s wrong, and they’re going to fix it.

If Richie doesn’t want to talk to him, then Eddie is going to make him.

“Isn’t that a bit… too much?”

It’s Ben; Eddie turns to stare at him. “It’s not like we have any other ideas. Do you?” he asks, impatient, but nobody speaks. “Ok, so. We get him to come here, I’ll give him the glass, we take him to the garage. Everyone clear?”

Stan shuffles his feet, looking worried. “What if he tells his parents?”

“Richie wouldn’t snitch on us. And if he’s not Richie…” Eddie trails off. “I mean, then Mr. Tozier wouldn’t really be our biggest problem, right? Even if he’s got teeth pliers.”

“That’s reassuring,” says Bev, dryly, but she’s smiling. Beverly always liked a dare. If Beverly’s in then all of them are, at least now that Eddie got Mike to confirm that something is really wrong.

“But if my grandfather finds out, I didn’t tell you anything,” he reminds Eddie, and Eddie nods and swears up and down that he has a lie for Mr. Leroy all lined up.

The next day Eddie waits by the bike racks after school, trying very hard to look like he’s not nervous at all. Richie ignored him all through English and then ran away right after, even though his locker was on the way to Eddie’s Woodshop class, and Eddie’s annoyed enough that he doesn’t feel even a bit sorry for what he is about to do.

“Hey, Rich.” He smiles up innocently, hands in his pockets. “Wanna bike home together?”

“Uh,” Richie says, awkward in a distinctly un-Richie way. “Sorry, Eddie. I’m not going—”

“Bullshit you’re not. You’ve been blowing us off for weeks, where else do you have to be?” Some of the anger seeps in his voice, and Eddie tries to reign it in. “Look, I’m not asking… you wanna keep avoiding me, that’s fine. Even though I haven’t done _anything_ — no, shut up,” he says, and Richie closes his mouth. “I don’t care. Let’s just go home together, it’s on your way. Then I'll leave you alone. My mom’s expecting me, anyway, so.”

He shrugs like he doesn’t care that much, and maybe Richie looks a bit upset by that. Good. Eddie bites his lip as he watches Richie nod.

“All right, sure.”

“Good,” Eddie says. “You know, I’m worried about you.”

Richie stops in his tracks. His laugh is loud and forced. “Yeah, when are you not? Typical Eds.”

He’s squirming, and his voice is all wrong, but Eddie ignores all of that. “Yeah, you look like shit,” he says, apparently oblivious. “All pale and— do you have a fever?”

He moves to feel Richie’s forehead, but Richie recoils. “What the fuck, Rich?” He doesn’t have to fake the outrage in his voice. “What, I have cooties now? The plague?”

“I’m _fine_ , dude. You don’t need to…”

 _Dude_. Fake Richie could fuck right off. Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. “Look, you look like shit. At least drink some water, I don’t want you to faint on me. Here.”

He rummages through his backpack and pulls out his water flask, extending his arm in Richie’s direction. “Please? Just water. I won’t even give you aspirin.”

Richie looks like he’s debating the risk of accidentally brushing Eddie’s fingers around the flask versus the real and present danger of Eddie pestering him all the way home. Eventually, he takes it.

“Yeah, all right. Thanks.”

Eddie watches Richie drink; one sip, two. His throat swallows as he gulps the water down, little drops falling from his lips, and Eddie stares.

“We going?”

“Yeah.” Eddie shoves the flask back into his backpack and gets on his bike. He knows the labels of all of mommy’s pills by heart, and checked the dosage carefully. Twelve drops per half a glass of water for an adult, so he assumed eight for a boy Richie’s age and then counted twelve anyway. He’d expected Richie would take two sips, but just saw him drink three and that’s even better. Still, he keeps an eye on Richie as they bike down the street, lest he faints and hits his head and ends up run over by a car. He doesn’t want to _kill_ Richie; he just wants answers.

They’re almost at Eddie’s house when he takes a turn right, towards Bill’s street.

“You mind? I need to go grab something from Bill’s.”

He doesn’t give Richie time to reply. Bill’s house is five minutes away, so that’d be fifteen minutes since he got Richie to drink the water. It never takes more than thirty for mommy to fall asleep, but she starts getting drowsy way before that.

He drops his bike to the ground in Bill’s driveway and looks at Richie.

“Are you sure you’re not getting sick?”

“I’m not sick, Eddie,” Richie says, but he sounds less confident than before. “Look, what d’you need to get from Bill?”

“My homework,” Eddie says, prissy. “Look, can you go inside and, like, sit down for five fucking minutes? You’re scaring me.”

That seems to do it. Richie agrees to follow him to the door and completely misses the guilt plastered all over Bill’s face, and asks Bill to bring him water from the tap.

“Maybe you’re coming down with something?” Bill asks, like the worst liar in the world. Richie misses that entirely, too busy frowning.

“Dunno. Feels worse than the last time I was high.”

“See, that’s funny,” Eddie says. “I’ve known Richie for years and he’s always talking shit but I’m pretty sure he never got high in his life.”

And then not-Richie blinks, looking from Bill’s worried face to Eddie’s determined glare.

“What the fuck, Eds,” he croaks, but Eddie doesn’t let that move him. He crosses his arms and watches Richie stumble when he tries to stand up.

“It’s just sleeping drops, relax,” Eddie tells him, suddenly afraid Richie will think he poisoned him. Even if it’s not really Richie who’s trying to glare at him from behind those stupid glasses.

“You are such a little shit…”

“Shut up, sit down and go to sleep,” Eddie says, and it takes like three minutes tops before maybe-not-Richie is out like a light. Then he goes to fetch the others, hiding out in Bill’s garage, and they have to drag Richie’s absurdly gangly limbs out of the house without dropping him like a log.

“Maybe if he hits his head, he’s gu-gonna go back to normal,” Bill says, and Mike laughs so suddenly he almost drops Richie’s shoulders. Eddie follows along dragging Bill’s mother’s rocking chair, with large comfortable armrests to tie Richie’s arms to. Just in case. He can barely see where he’s putting his feet, and halfway across the yard he stumbles on something and almost falls on his face.

“What the— ”

“Alright, Eddie?” Mike asks, all casual. Like it’s no big deal that he’s just carrying Richie around while Eddie just fell under a chair.

“‘m fine!”

He spares a glance for the turtle on the grass, peacefully trudging along on Bill’s front yard like it hadn’t just tried to murder him.

“Watch where you’re going,” Eddie hisses, even though it’s a turtle and it can’t hear him. Then he adjusts his hold on the chair and rushes inside.

In the garage, Stan and Ben are unfolding what looks like a Christmas light wire.

“What the hell, guys?”

“What, you thought the Denbroughs had spare rope hidden around?” Stan says, defensively. “That’s the best thing we found.”

“Jesus Christ, we’re gonna electrocute him.”

“We’re not gonna _electrocute_ him, Eddie—”

Eddie turns sharply to glare at Bill, who’s helping Mike lay Richie’s stupid tall body on Sharon Denbrough’s favorite chair — not carefully enough, in Eddie’s opinion.

“I wanted to interrogate him, not to _murder_ him— do you know how many domestic accidents involving Christmas lights happen every year?”

“We’re not plugging it in, Eds,” Beverly says. Eddie blinks.

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Yeah? You silly.”

“Whatever,” Eddie tells her, and then goes to supervise Stan and Ben as they tie Richie’s arms and legs to the chair. They both know a lot more about knots than Eddie does (which is not at all) but Eddie isn’t really impressed with the way they’re going about it.

“I think he could break out of those, Stan. Maybe you could wrap it around his waist one more time?”

“The wire’s not long enough to do that. We’d need another one.”

“Then get another one?”

Stan glares at him.

“What?”

“We don’t have another one, Eddie,” Ben says. “Look, he can’t break out of that. And if he does, there’s six of us and one of him.”

They all turn to look at Richie, slumped on the chair with his head lolling on his chest.

“Uhm,” Bev says. “How long before he wakes up?”

“Oh, five hours,” Eddie says, and then everyone turns to look at _him_.

“What do you mean _five hours_ —”

“—his parents will notice it if he doesn’t show up in five hours, they’ll call the police, this is kidnapping—”

“—my _grandpa_ is gonna call the police if I don’t show up in five hours, Eddie.”

“—we can’t keep a kidnapping victim in my parents’ garage—”

“Will you all SHUT UP?”

The shout reverberates against the wall, so loud that Eddie winces, embarrassed. Surprisingly, they all fall quiet. Unsurprisingly, Richie doesn’t stir.

“It wears off in five hours, but it’s not like he’s in a coma. We can try waking him up anytime.” Then he thinks about it. “Starting half an hour from now, maybe? He’s gonna be all sleepy and too stupid to answer anything if we wake him up right now.”

The Losers seem to agree with that. They spend the next half hour debating the best methods to wake up Richie, discussing the merits of throwing water on him (guaranteed to work, but he won’t get a chance to dry if they have to keep him tied up, and he might get sick) versus slapping him (that seems mean, and they’d have to do it a few times) or even screaming in his ear (what if he goes deaf?). Interrogations in movies always seem to involve a bright lightbulb dangling two inches from the prisoner’s face, but the lights in the Denbroughs’ garage flicker a dull yellow, and after some consideration they decide that there’s nothing to do about that.

Forty minutes in, they start to get really bored. Everyone keeps throwing glances at Eddie like they expect _him_ to be the one to do something about Richie, and maybe they kind of have a point, so Eddie stands up from his sad dusty corner and begins poking Richie experimentally in the ribs.

“Hey, Rich?” he calls, way louder than normal. “Hey. Wake up.” He slaps Richie’s cheek way too gently, then a bit harder and immediately feels guilty about it. Even if it’s not really Richie. “Hey, asshole, we need you to answer some questions.”

It takes some time for Richie to wake up. He starts blinking, drowsy, turning his head to look around and see what the hell is happening. He makes a strange face when he realizes he’s tied to the chair then straightens as much as he can, looking up in Eddie’s direction.

“What _the fuck_ , Eddie.”

What’s up with fake Richie and calling him ‘Eddie’ all the time? That’s only pissing him off more. Eddie glares down to the chair with all the intensity he can muster.

“I told you, we need you to answer some questions. Where’s Richie?”

“What the fuck— dude, I’m sitting right here. Because you tied me to a chair…” He turns his head, taking in all the Losers standing around the room, looking at him.

“Holy shit,” Richie says. “Holy shit, you’re all in on it, really? That’s adorable. That’s… way more than I would have expected, wow. Eddie talked all of you into this?”

Eddie glares. Stan clears his throat. “Eddie said you’ve been acting weird.”

“I said? I mean, you’re all seeing this, aren’t you?” He points to Richie, who’s fucking laughing on the chair.

“You drugged me and tied me to a chair…” He rocks back and forth on said chair, like an asshole. “…a very comfortable chair, because I’ve been acting weird? Look, guys, it’s me, what the fuck—”

“What’s Richie’s favorite movie?”

Richie’s face scrunches up as he frowns. “What?”

“You heard me,” Eddie says. “What’s Richie’s favorite movie.”

“Eddie, you little fucker. It’s _My_ —” Richie stops suddenly, mouth half-open. “Uh.”

“I told you,” Eddie tells the other, feeling vindicated and very scared at the same time. “He’s not Richie.”

“Eddie, yes, it’s me. Stan broke his ankle in fourth grade because I dared him to climb a tree in my backyard. Stan, remember that?”

Stan nods, and so does Bill. Eddie rolls his eyes at them both. “Everyone knows that story, Rich— everyone knows that story. How did you— how did Richie break his arm? Sixth grade.”

“It was my ankle, and I told you I learned to skate over the summer, but I lied because I’d never done it. Fell on my ass.”

“Not many p-people know that, Eddie,” Bill points out.

“Yeah, whatever. What was the name of our third grade homeroom teacher? First name, not last. You gave her a valentine once.”

Richie hesitates.

“He made kind of a big deal about it,” Stan says.

“Stan, it was third grade,” Richie says. “How the fuck am I supposed to remember third grade?”

“Richie would.” Eddie looks around, seeing five identically worried faces. He refuses to look at Richie. “Guys, what do we do?”

“Fucking untie me, Eddie, it’s me.”

Beverly takes a step forward, looking at Richie in the chair. “I don’t think it’s the clown.”

“No, we talked about that,” Mike says. “Eddie and I. We thought… if it was the clown, It wouldn’t wait so long, you know? Richie’s been weird for weeks.”

“So, what, I can’t be depressed for a month without you tying me to a chair? Hello?”

“Will you shut up,” Eddie says. “Where’s Richie? The real Richie.”

Richie makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a tired sob. “Eddie, I’m sitting right here.”

“You keep calling me Eddie. And you’re going out of your way to avoid me—”

“And what, you tie me to a chair—”

“You _jump_ if I even try to touch you—”

“Because you’re an annoying fucking _kid_ ,” Richie says, loud and hoarse and sounding wrecked. He turns his face away. “Look I’m not gonna do anything to you. I promise it’s all gonna go back to normal soon. Just let me go, I’m not the clown, I’m me, and I just want to leave.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say, and neither does anyone else. They all stand there in silence, staring at Richie, until Bill makes a weird face and says, “Are you _crying_?”

“Oh, fuck off, kid.”

“I’m older t-than you,” Bill says, indignant, and Richie snorts.

“Look, if you really want to know…” Richie begins, and Eddie’s spine stiffens.

“We want to know.”

Richie snorts again. It sounds wet. “Yeah, I figured. All right, so… you’ve all seen _Back to the Future_ , right?”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes’, and many confused faces. Mike frowns, and Stan rolls his eyes like it’s the most stupid question he’s ever heard.

“We saw it _together_ ,” Stan points out. “We’re gonna see the next one together too ‘cept you’re just gonna blow us off again.”

“Harsh,” Richie says. “So, we’re in Derry, right. And a lot— a lot of shit happens here.”

Beverly laughs. Richie seems like he appreciates that, straightening up so that Eddie can see his face again. His eyes are kind of red, but he knows better than to say anything.

“Ok, so, if I told you that because of Derry stuff I’m, like, actually from the future, would you all believe me?” He goes on before anyone can answer. “Or would you think I’m insane and tie me up to a chair? Oh no, wait, you already did that!”

There's a pause as they all digest what Richie said. Back to the Future, really? But, on the other hand, they've seen impossible things already.

Eddie looks at Mike, who's looking at Ben, who's looking at Beverly. They all find each other’s eyes, too scared to risk being skeptical.

Then, finally, Ben breaks the silence. “That sounds…”

“Insane,” Stan says.

“Yeah, like your dad's ugly painting eating your face, Stanley.”

Stan winces. Eddie glares.

“Why are you being a dick on purpose?”

“Uh, because you tied me to a chair?” Every time Richie moves in his restraints the chair rocks back and forth and Richie glares, looking comically annoyed. “With… are these Christmas lights?”

“We couldn't find a rope,” Ben says.

Unexpectedly, Richie laughs.

“I'm sure you did a great job, Ben. Look, guys, I'm not saying you have to believe me, but you did ask. And I think you will believe me once you have some time to think it over. Like old Mr. Hanlon,” he adds, looking at Mike, knowingly.

“Is that what you told my grandpa? This… time travel stuff?”

“Yeah, he didn't believe me either, but he didn't want to risk it, so he listened.”

“Why him?” Mike asks. “You never— I didn't think you knew my grandpa.”

“He doesn't,” Eddie says, just as Richie says, “I don't.”

Richie barks a laugh. “Yeah, listen to him. But, I knew he’d listen and I knew he’d remember. There are some things I wanted you guys to know, but I couldn’t…”

“Is this about the clown?”

Bill doesn’t even stutter. Richie’s familiar face goes tense, fingers grasping at the chair’s armrest. Stan’s hand flies up to his face to touch his cheek, where the bandages just came off last week, and Eddie doesn’t think he even notices.

Softly, Richie says, “You were the one who made us promise, Bill.”

“So it comes back?” Bev asks, urgently. “Ben’s research and Mike’s stories, and…”

“The dreams you’ve been having. From the deadlights.”

Beverly’s face falls. She turns away, one hand hiding her eyes, and sways softly when Ben puts a hand on her arm.

“Sorry, Bev.” Richie’s voice is soft. “Those won’t come true, alright? That’s why I’m here.”

He sounds weary but gentle, in a way that’s immediately comforting. _Older_ , Eddie thinks, and for the first time he fully believes him.

“How old are you?”

The vehemence in his own voice surprises him. Richie looks away.

“Lots older. Seriously, I look at you and I all I can think is ‘they’re so tiny!’. The first two days I was here I couldn’t even walk without stumbling everywhere. Uh. I went way further back than I thought I would, and when I got here I couldn’t just say something, so I tracked down the stupid books Mike’s gonna find, and—”

“What do you mean ‘way further back’—”

“I mean I got here by accident, Eds. Wasn’t exactly planning on…” Riche’s bound limbs tense against the wire and, ok, it looks kind of ridiculous. “All of this sci-fi flick drama. Y’know?”

Eddie stares. This sounds so fucking absurd. _Richie_ is fucking absurd, always has been, and this is the kind of fucking stupid plan he’d think was cool—the kind of stupid plan Eddie is supposed to keep him away from, because he’s one who was actually born with an ounce of sense.

“I can’t believe I let you do this.”

Richie makes a face but doesn’t say anything. Eddie’s ready to ask more—what was future Eddie thinking, anyway? Does aging make you dumb—but then Mike speaks.

“How are you planning to get back?”

“About that,” Richie says. “So. I should… I should already be back? I talked to the old man, I left all the clues— don’t do the ritual of Chüd, by the way. Waste of time.” His eyes find Mike’s, insistent. “Mike, man, older you would _kill me_ , I wrote inside so many old books. Thought you guys would find everything, eventually, I didn’t want to have this conversation. And… I’m supposed to get back once I’ve changed things enough and believe me, I’m trying.”

They all stare, nervously. Beverly looks like she’s about to cry, and that more than anything sends cold fear spiking through Eddie’s body. He didn’t think Bev could get scared. Mike’s frowning, and Ben too, probably trying to make sense of all the weird shit not-Richie has been saying, and Bill starts pacing back and forth like he used to do every time he brought them in here to talk about finding Georgie.

“Wait,” Stan says. “If you’re here, what happened to—” just as Eddie’s chest goes very tight. “What have you done to _our_ Richie?”

“Look, this wasn’t exactly my plan.”

“Shit. Fuck. Did you—switch? Or is he…”

It’s horrible to consider. If this guy is here stuck inside Richie’s body, where’s the real Richie? What if he’s stuck, or worse yet…

“What if he’s _dead_? What if—why’d you do this?”

He advances on Richie, still on the chair, hands closing into fists. The wrong Richie. “Nobody asked you to do this, you should’ve stayed away, we could’ve done this alone—”

“Eds…”

He shrugs off Bev’s gentle hand on his back. He doesn’t need gentle.

“Why did you—”

“You couldnt’ve have done it, alright? Things went wrong. Like, really wrong.”

That stops Eddie dead in his tracks.

“When you say wruh-wrong…”

“I’m not spelling it out for you, Bill. It went _bad_. Fucked up. That’s why I didn’t tell you guys, ok? I thought I’d fix it myself so I could go back and things’d be better. I wanted to fix it.”

“Fix it?”

Richie's head snaps around to look at Stan, staring with an intensity that’s frightening.

“Yes, I promise. We got rid of It, it’s— actually wasn't that hard once we figured out what to do. Getting there was the hard part. I don't wanna fuck up the time-continuum paradox—”

“The what?”

“I have no fucking idea, Stanley, I just didn’t wanna risk it. I thought I should be careful, ok, but... best thing I can tell you, it’s something Eds figured out. Don’t even try the fucking ritual, you don’t need it.”

“What d’you mean I figured it out, you’re not making any fucking sense—”

“Calm down, Eddie, geez. Look, there’s something in one of those dusty old books, we didn’t catch it soon enough the first time, but I promise you’re gonna see it if you look now. You have everything you’re gonna need from the start, you can do this no problem.” He pauses. “And, uh…”

“What?” Eddie asks. Richie shakes his head.

“Nevermind. I thought I saw… look, you ever gonna untie me?” He shakes his bound arms, and the chair rocks all over. “It’s not that I’m not comfortable, but leave me with some fucking dignity. C'mon, what am I gonna do?”

They all exchange looks. Stan's face is still tense, but Beverly looks immensely relieved. Eddie watches Ben watch Bev then Mike, while Bill's staring down at the floor.

“Does it—”

“We kill it, Bill, for good. I promise.” And then Richie huffs. “Look if you could all untie me, please? I’m feeling like shit so unless you want me to throw up all over this chair…”

Eddie considers it. This isn't _his_ Richie but he’s still Richie, so that means they can trust him. Probably.

“If I untie you,” he says, stepping closer. “You gonna stop acting like an asshole?”

“Hey, kid, you wound me— _ouch_!”

Richie gets all stiffy when Eddie got within touching distance, and that’s never gonna stop being annoying. Then Eddie actually touches him and it stings, like electric static. He jumps away, frowning.

“Sorry,” he tells Richie, then tries again.

Another brush of his fingers around Richie’s wrist, another burst of annoying static. He flinches back, eyes closing involuntarily, and there’s a flash behind his eyelids like a sun-burned afterimage— a sharp smile in the darkness, a house crumbling. Then, oddly, he sees the peaceful turtle he saw earlier in Bill’s yard, happily stumbling along. It raises its small head to look at him.

“ _Fuck_.”

Richie’s voice brings him back to reality. His face’s all scrunched up under his huge glasses, wide-eyed and incredulous. “What, now? Really?”

“What’s going on?” Bill’s voice, followed by Ben’s sudden shriek.

“Guys, look at the lights—”

“Oh, shit, what’s that?”

“Eddie, step away.”

“Yeah, Eddie, step away,” Richie echoes, sounding much less scared. “I think it’s actually happening now. You should—”

“What’s happening?” That’s Stan, nearly shouting. Richie twists to look at him.

“The time travel thing? I’ve been trying to set it off for days— maybe babbling too much is what's getting me a return ticket, fuck. Eddie, _step away_.”

And then many things happen at once.

There’s a loud humming sound growing all around them, vibrating deep inside Eddie’s ribcage. The lights in the room keep getting brighter and brighter until his eyes are watering with it— even the Christmas lights around Richie’s arms and legs and waist that Beverly had sworn were totally unplugged are turned on, shining bright and white, and all Eddie can think about is that it’s gotta burn, and Richie’s still sitting there, tied—

He steps closer, ignoring Stan’s shout and Bev’s scream and Richie’s warning. He needs to get that thing off Richie before something bad happens—

The humming grows until Eddie’s teeth are rattling with it, hands shaking, temples pulsating like he’s underwater—

And the lights explode in a burst of shattered glass, just as Eddie’s arm goes up to shield his eyes.

He falls back to the hard floor.

Then, in the dark, Richie's voice.

“What the _fuck_ guys?”

When they all calm down, two things are clear.

One, Eddie’s hands are bleeding. That’s a fucking nightmare waiting to happen, because the Denbroughs’ garage is full of dust and dirt and rat shit and many things Eddie doesn’t want to think about, and if he’s going to get an infection out of this Richie will owe him for life.

Second, Richie is actually Richie again. This takes some time to assess (Richie’s favorite movie is _Return of the Jedi_ , as it should be) but once they are sufficiently satisfied they untie him and bring the chair back where it was, then clean all the grass bits the floor of the Denbroughs’ garage. Except for Eddie, because he might get an infection, so he just stands in a corner and watches everyone else work good-naturedly. Richie immediately joins him, but Eddie figures he’s got a good excuse for slacking this time.

“Sorry you hurt your hands,” Richie says, nodding down to Eddie’s bandaged fingers.

“‘s fine. I’m just gonna have to keep my mom from seeing it.”

He flexes his fingers, self-conscious, and Richie makes a sympathetic face, so Eddie figures he might as well go for it.

“Uh, could I… is it cool if I go to your house for dinner? I told my mom I was gonna, you know, to have an excuse. And I could stay over, so she doesn’t see it? If you don’t mind. I know you just got back but—”

“Yeah, sure,” Richie says immediately. “Yeah, of course. You can tell me all the shit that I… missed?” His voice rises on the last word like he can’t really believe it. “So, was other me, like, cool?”

Eddie snorts. “He literally looked like you. He literally _was_ you—”

“‘Cept you noticed it.”

“Yeah, well. ‘Cause you were being a lot less annoying than usual.”

He doesn’t look at Richie’s face while he says it. He watches Beverly help Ben put away an old dusty mop Eddie wouldn’t touch with his bandaged pinkie, and thinks about the other Richie, and how he wouldn’t let Eddie touch him.

“Hey, did you see a turtle?”

“So, does it mean I’m cooler than the other me?” Richie asks, then pauses. “Wait, what d’you mean a turtle?”

“Like…” Eddie makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Uh, wherever you were? And I never said you were cool.”

“You wound me, Eds.”

He says it in the same exact voice as Other Richie did just minutes ago. It’s creepy; Eddie pushes through it.

“Did you? What do you remember?”

“Not much,” Richie says. “No turtles. Uh, I was in my head, mostly? Other me’s head, I think, I don’t really wanna think about it. It hurt.”

Eddie pushes himself off the wall, frowning. “Wait, what do you mean hurt?” He looks Richie up and down. “Are you wounded? Should we get you checked out?”

“I’m good. I meant, my head hurt. I was… in this apartment? Kind of miserable, I remember a bit about that. Didn’t feel like a month, more like one evening. And my head hurt so much. Eds,” Richie says. “Eddie, I’m dead serious, look at me, I’m never getting drunk _in my life_.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Eddie says automatically, pushing through the sheer relief that threatened to overwhelm him. He wants to hug Richie, so he does. Briefly, with his head pressed on Richie’s shoulder, and Richie doesn’t pull back. It feels nice.

He pulls back. “You shouldn’t get drunk. It raises your blood pressure, it gives you insomnia, and it makes you depressed. And it gives you headaches.”

“Seriously, do you memorize all these useless facts? How d’you— _hey_!”

Once the others are done, they walk outside to get their bikes and get back to their homes. It’s after six and Derry had a town-wide curfew until not that long ago, and most of their parents still expect them to follow it unofficially.

The whole time, Richie keeps talking non-stop, seemingly boggled that there has been another him walking around Derry for almost a month and no one noticed.

“Well, he was weird, but you’re always weird.”

“But not body-snatched weird, Bill, what the fuck? Mike?”

“You are weird, Rich.”

Ben nods along to Mike’s words. “We wanted to give you space.”

“ _Fuck space_.”

“Fuck, he’s gonna bring this up all the time,” Stan says. “It’s all gonna be ‘hey guys, remember the time I disappeared for a month and you didn’t even notice’ and I want you to know, Rich, we did notice, we just thought it was a bit you were doing and didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

“For a _month_?”

“Think of all the schoolwork you missed,” Bev says, but Richie just shrugs it off.

“Like that’s hard.”

“I hate you,” Eddie says, with feeling. Richie’s hand musses his hair.

“You don’t. You tied me to a chair because you missed me!”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling.

Everything is as it should be, and he’s almost skipping with joy as they wave goodbye to their friends one by one. He keeps throwing Richie short looks as they bike to the Toziers’ house, just to make sure he’s still there, and Richie catches him looking and rolls his eyes but he doesn’t say anything.

Later, when they’re in Richie’s room with the lights out, Eddie’s mind keeps whirring at full speed.

He left behind his pull-out bed to go to sleep next to Richie, just to feel him breathe close, except he keeps tossing and sighing so much he’s keeping them both awake. And not even the fun kind of awake, with comics and games.

Eddie sighs again.

“What?”

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

“Well, I want to, but you’re driving me bonkers. What? Do you miss other me? Do you actually think he was cooler than me? You can tell me, Eddie, I’m a big boy.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Eddie says, except it’s a rotten lie. He never wants Richie to shut up, ever.

“Hey, Rich?”

The mattress croaks as Richie shifts.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know— the other you, he said I figured it out. How to get rid of It, when it comes back.” He feels scared just thinking about it, fear clogging up his chest until he can’t breathe. But Richie said… “What if I can’t? What if I don’t figure it out, and something bad happens?”

“Of course you will,” Richie says. He sounds absolutely certain, like Eddie’s being an idiot just thinking he can’t do something. “I believe in you, Eds, you can do everything.” Then he yawns. “Except going the fuck to sleep.”

So Eddie kicks him under the blanket, and Richie kicks him back, until they’ve kicked the blanket off the bed and Eddie has to twist around to grab it from the floor because it’s too cold to sleep without.

He unfolds it over the two of them, making sure Richie’s feet are covered. Then Eddie turns on his side, tucks his head against Richie’s shoulder and goes to sleep.


End file.
